


The Confession

by retrojupiter



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: (post ch16), Angst, Canon Divergent, Din Djarin Removes the Helmet, Gen, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Spoilers, din didnt break the code, he re-made himself and ill fight over it, hrm i actually dont think the armourer would react like this bUT i got writers block :(, i guess, otherwise known as: scenes that would be cool that we'll never get
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28118313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retrojupiter/pseuds/retrojupiter
Summary: "It was the only way. I couldn’t- I couldn’t take a chance- He’s my child.”“What has been broken cannot be reforged. You, an aruetiise, are wearing beskar. You have no right.” The last part was hissed, her glare palpable through the visor.(In which Din goes back to his old covert after the events of Chapter 15)
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin
Comments: 11
Kudos: 236





	The Confession

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lavendersmoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavendersmoke/gifts).



> "would have liked to see the armourers reaction to din taking off his helmet"
> 
> "yea, me too" 
> 
> "WAIT IM A FIC WRITER" 
> 
> jodie this is for u

Din’s palms were sweaty under his gloves.

The uncomfortable itchy feeling leaves him fidgeting, antsy in a way he can’t describe. An overwhelming feeling of wrongness has been washing over him ever since he removed his helmet, as though his skin doesn’t sit right anymore. Sin has consequences. The overwhelming nature of the events of the last month had upended everything he thought he knew, turning his beliefs inside out.

The helmet feels too tight, dragging him down, but the cold air on his face had felt worse, and he couldn’t order any thoughts in his head, and he couldn’t forget the lightning strike of making true eye contact.

And he couldn’t pretend it had never happened.

 _Dar’manda_. He never thought that-

Never realised how much he would give for the child. The child that was currently cooing in his arms, unknowing of how much had been sacrificed for him to live. Did he even have the right to raise Grogu, to teach him the Resol’nare, if he had lost his soul?

For a man without a soul, he felt pretty damn strongly about the kid.

There were others though, other Mandalorians that took off their helmets. He had always supposed that the Creed couldn’t have always been like this - the stories of celebrations after battles of legend were enough to convince him that the helmet rule had changed. Hell, the phrase _buy’ce gal_ told him enough. To wear the helmet was to be anonymous, to be one with the manda. To take it off was to break that connection and undoubtedly put others of his tribe at risk - if the Empire could track one face, the whole covert risked exposure. Someone who would show their face broke the tenet "protect the clan" in the Resol'nare, making them _dar'manda_. It had seemed simple. That was the way.

Bo-Katan has exuded confidence to the point of arrogance; self-assured in her Mandalorian identity in a way that Din had never managed. Their culture was in her blood, souls ingrained in the inherited face she wore, not hanging by easily broken commands. She would always be a child of Mandalore. Din was-

Din was nothing without the Creed.

Blood or not, she wasn't a true Mandalorian. She broke her word, threw the Way in his face like it was an insult.

Fett, though. A different matter.

That man was _mandokarla_ through and through, and he had never sworn the Creed, he could be considered for _cin vhetin_. His circumstances - no matter his origin or how he had lost his armour - clearly hadn't changed his sense of duty. He was Mandalorian, in every way except for swearing the Creed. His helmet rules were personal, and if his reaction to the genetic tester in the Imp base was anything to go by, wouldn’t help with anonymity anyway.

Using them as examples wouldn’t make an inch of difference with Din’s tribe. There was no space for those who couldn’t defend themselves well enough to stop a helmet removal and those who chose to remove it-

It had been in defence of a foundling. How could his face come above his child?

About two weeks after they had rescued Grogu from the Imperial cruiser, he had received a transmission from his commlink with coordinates just titled _Yaim_. It had been an odd two weeks. Feeling very much alone, very much adrift, mourning an identity that he didn’t regret sacrificing.

Getting those coordinates had caused a pang in his chest as strong as a sniper bolt. Enough of the others had made it off Nevarro to reform the covert after he had brought danger to their doorstep, and they were still inviting him back, not knowing they had sent their location to a traitor. Worse than a traitor. _Dar’manda_.

The new location is much different from the old covert, an old rebel base built into a system of caves on a forest planet. There is no shortage of water, and the air smelt clean, not like the sulphur ridden smog of Nevarro. It’s undoubtedly healthier for the children.

They’re much louder here than they were before, yelling and laughing as they weave around Din, and he’s glad at least they’re able to play without fear now. There’s no-one around to hear them, and though they’ve lost the money flow from Nevarro, it’s worth it to hear the children play.

The adults of the tribe nod at him as he passes, but he does not have the heart to look at them.

Or, he does not have the soul.

An uncomfortable prickling is creeping up his neck, under the helmet, an inexplicable itch of _otherness_. He feels as though something must have changed – surely they can tell. That he isn’t whole anymore.

As he walks to the centre of the covert, he can feel the beat of the forge vibrating beneath his boots. It feels like it should be in time with his heart. His chestpiece should be thumping with how hard it’s beating.

No matter the location, the forge always feels the same - even when he was a child in Concordia, the clang of metal was the same, the combination of coals and beskar unique to Mandalorian smelters. Grogu whines uneasily, ears folded to protect against the noise.

He takes his usual position and places Grogu on the floor next to the table. He sits quietly, absorbing the room with huge round eyes. The setting is eerily similar to the day he brought the beskar back to the covert. Then, it had been the child in exchange for the honour of his beskar. In the Imp base, it had been his beskar in exchange for the child.

The Armourer pauses her work and takes her place opposite him. There is no offering on the table this time, no exchange apart from the state of his soul.

She tilts her head. "You are tense.”

“Something…something happened.”

You must have experienced much since we last spoke. Tell me of the progression in your quest”

So, he explains. There’s not a lot of difference in her posture as he tells her of the false Mandalorian he found on Tatooine, but she stiffens at the mention of Bo-Katan. He ploughs on, describing the Jedi he found, and the rejection he faced from her. The bond he has formed with the kid. _You are as it's father._

He thinks his hands are shaking.

He talks about travelling to Tython, watching the kid be taken. Reporting it like this feels cold, detached. Almost militaristic. She doesn’t need to know about the agony of watching the kid being taken in that droid's arms. How it had felt when he'd _failed_.

“To rescue my _ad_ , we had to enter an Imperial base. I had to wear Stormtrooper armour to infiltrate the base. The coordinates we needed were stored on a terminal. It required a facial scan to access.”

There is no reaction.

“I removed my helmet in a room of Imperial officers.” His tone is flat. “I had a conversation with one with my face exposed. I allowed the remnant to gain a scan of my face.”

A moment of silence. Finally, the Armorer speaks. “And you are wondering if you are still Mandalorian?”

He nods.

“You forfeited your helm. You broke the Creed. You have become _dar’manda_.”

“ _What was I supposed to do_?" He can't help but protest. "The Resol’nare demands I hide my face. It demands me to protect my child - I _couldn’t do both_.”

“You could not have shot the officers in the room? The man you were with could not have retrieved his helm to enter the room?” She leans forward. “You could not find another way?”

Cold dread creeps up his spine. “It was the only way. I couldn’t- I couldn’t take a chance- He’s my _child_.”

“What has been broken cannot be reforged. You, an _aruetiise_ , are wearing beskar. You have no _right_.” The last part was hissed, her glare palpable through the visor.

No – this wasn’t- this wasn’t right. He looked down at Grogu, who was chewing on his pendant. This couldn’t be the end-

“There are others. Those who wear beskar but don’t cover their faces. I just told you about them; they were no less _Mando’ade_ than you or me- “

“And this makes up for your sin? Imitators wearing stolen armour?” She snarled at him

The kid was looking up at him. He still had the mythosaur in his mouth. “The Creed has no value to me if it places my face above the life of my child. This foundling is my future- I can change my Creed.”

“I do not care what you do. You are not welcome here. The child, however, does not deserve to carry your sin, and should remain here.”

 _What_. His gloves creaked, fists clenching.

“You will remove your beskar. You will leave the child here. And you will not return.”

Well then. That was it.

No going back now.

The Armorer looks a second away from stabbing him.

Not taking the time to think – not about the tribe, not about the Creed- he reaches up and slides his helmet off his head. Just as fast as in the Imperial base.

She flinches as though struck. _Huh_. The power of a face.

Din gathers a subdued Grogu into his arm, helmet in the other hand. He spits out,“I _won’t let him be taken again_. I don’t _care_ what you think of me”

As he turns away he hears her standing up. “And I haven’t lost my soul. My child will _always_ come before my face.”

He leaves the forge with his face bared, Grogu curled up his arm. He can feel the disgust radiating from the Mandalorians. One, Tonn, stands, growling something about _hut’uun dar’manda_ , raises his fist- _osik his hands are full of baby and beskar-_

Only for the fist to stop an inch from his face. His kid’s eyes are closed, and a purple shimmer is radiating around the both of them. 

Din knows where to look through a visor. Knows he making eye contact. It doesn’t burn so much this time. He glares, then turns away. 

He leaves. 

And he doesn’t look back. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! this is a little rushed out before the finale but it was definitely fun to write :)  
> Come say hi on my [ tumblr!](https://retro-jupiter.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Mando'a translations:  
> Ad: Child  
> Aruetiise: Outsider, or in this context, traitor  
> Buy'ce gal: A pint (or helmet full!) of ale  
> Cin vhetin: Clean slate  
> Dar'manda: Soulless  
> Hutuun: Coward  
> Mando'ade: Children of Mandalore  
> Mandokarla: Mandalorian spirit  
> Osik: Shit  
> Resol'nare: The Six Actions, the Mandalorian Creed  
> Yaim: Home  
> 


End file.
